40. Emma
Chapter forty
Emma
He released my throat and stood in one fluid motion.
The loss of contact left me gasping.
"Stand," he commanded. "And follow."
My legs trembled as I rose from the pillow, the leather releasing my knees with a soft whisper. I kept my hands at my sides, fingers curling against my thighs, resisting the urge to reach for him. I followed him through the room and under the gleaming metal disc hanging from the ceiling.
Damien circled behind me, to the table near the wall—the soft slide of rope through his hands, the quiet clink of metal.
"Tonight's scene is shibari. Rope and intimacy," he said, coming to stand in front of me. "Do you consent?"
"Yes, Master."
He grinned, not kind, not sweet, an evil, wicked thing.
"I'm going to touch you now," he explained. "Just my hands, at first. Getting you used to the contact. Warming your skin."
Long, sweeping strokes down my arms. Across my back. Over my shoulders and down again. Not sexual—not yet—just touch. Connection.
"Shibari requires preparation," he said, voice low and instructive. "The body needs to be warm. Relaxed. Ready to receive the ropes."
His hands swept down me, pressing into the muscles along my lower back. I exhaled slowly, tension I hadn't realized I was holding melting beneath his touch.
"The ropes aren't restraints," he continued. "They're an embrace. They hold you the way I hold you—firm, but never cruel. Supportive, but never suffocating."
His knuckles traced the curve of my waist.
"Tonight, we start simple." Damien's lips brushed my ear, his breath warm enough to make me shiver. "A beginner's inversion… just enough to let you fly without overwhelming you."
Fly.
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes, Master."
"Good girl."
But still the first touch of rope against my skin made me gasp.
It was warmer than I expected, softened by his hands, the fibers gliding in confident, patient strokes. He circled my chest, bands wrapping under my breasts, crossing between them, cinching around my ribs.
"Breathe," he reminded softly. "Any pinching? Any sharpness?"
"No," I breathed. "Just tight. Good."
His eyes snapped to mine. "Too tight?"
I shook my head.
He checked again anyway.
"This will take your weight," he explained, pulling on the chest harness. "Everything else just shapes the position."
He moved to the table, gathering another coil.
"Lay. Stomach down. Hands by your sides."
I obeyed, the cushioned rug soft beneath my stomach.
"Knees soft," he said.
I obeyed, holding myself still as he folded my legs into a gentle bend and wrapped rope around them—thighs to calves—drawing them into a compact hobble. I felt my balance shift, my center pulled inward.
"Good," he praised. "Now for your hands."
He gathered mine in his larger ones, folding them behind me, guiding each hand to its opposite elbow. "Stay like this."
Another whisper of rope through his hands and then I felt it around my wrists, tying my arms together in place behind my back.
"Perfect," he said, almost to himself. "Exactly what I need."
The ropes slid and tightened until I was fully bound. My arms were secured behind my back, fastened to the chest harness, leaving no room to move. My legs were anchored the same way, each line drawn tight.
Damien's fingertips traced the harness once more, checking tension, then I felt it. The final rope. The last piece of the puzzle.
"This is what lifts you," he said, voice low as my body quaked, his arms jerking my body as he secured the rope tight.
"One last thing," he said.
His footsteps stopped in front of me. He reached for my braid, lifting my head with a firm pull. My neck protested as my gaze was forced upward to meet his.
A second tug—and I was locked in place.
Bound. Immobilized. Only my fingers and toes still free to twitch.
"Tell me your neck is okay," he said, voice controlled. "Breathing clear?"
"Yes, Master," I confirmed, breath shaking but steady.
"Good. If that changes, you tell me immediately."
He dragged his index finger up the exposed length of my throat. "Are you ready, my love?"
"Yes, Master," I confirmed.
He chuckled as I tried for a nod.
"If anything feels wrong—numbness, tingling, sharp pain—you tell me immediately. Understood?"
"Yes, Master."
"What are your words?"
"Mercy, Master. And salvation, Master."
A wicked grin curved his mouth. "Then it's time."
I closed my eyes as tension spread through the ropes, the lines tightening until they groaned.
A cry tore from me when they bit into my skin.
Then my breath hitched.
My thighs lifted from the ground.
Then my stomach.
And finally the tips of my breasts.
The room tilted as I rose higher, Damien's belt coming into view. With the little mobility I had left, I looked up at him through my lashes.
His face was all concentration as he checked the lines again—the level, the knots, the tension in the ropes.
Looking for weakness.
Finding none.
A smile spread slowly across his mouth.
"Eyes on me," he said softly. "Give me your name."
"Emma," I whispered.
"Stay present," he ordered. "Let me know if anything hurts."
My back curved deeper into the arch. The ropes cradled me like hands, supporting every curve.
My body vulnerable.
Completely exposed.
He took a step back, sliding his hands into his pockets.
I felt the cool air caress the aching, wet heat between my thighs.
Too much. The flesh, the gravity. Too much.
I closed my eyes, willing the embarrassment away.
"Look at me," he said softly.
I forced them open.
He stood before me now, positioned so I could see him without straining against the rope securing my head.
"How do you feel?"
I swallowed, my throat bobbing against the stiff angle of my neck. "Exposed."
A dark laugh rumbled from deep in his chest.
"Good." He stepped closer. "That is exactly how I want you."
He circled behind me, disappearing from view.
And just like that, I felt it—a telltale release, dripping onto the floor below. Little droplets betraying exactly how much my body wanted this.
His footsteps stopped.
A sharp intake of breath.
"Oh, Emma. You should see yourself."
He gripped my hips from behind, steadying me as I swayed gently in the ropes. The touch was electric—every nerve ending amplified, every sensation magnified tenfold.
"You're so beautiful like this," he said, voice rough with want.
His fingers traced the curve of my spine, following the line of rope down my back. Lower. Lower still.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
I couldn't answer. Words had become impossible. There was only sensation—the ropes, his hands, the ache building between my legs.
A whimper escaped my throat as his fingers found my core, sliding through the wetness gathered there.
Then he moved.
Footsteps circled until he stopped in front of me again. He dropped to his haunches, bringing himself to my eye level. Proof of my need glistened on the fingers he lifted before my face.
He sucked his ring finger into his mouth. Tasting me.
His head tipped back with a groan, the digit popping free. "You taste so fucking good. Sweet like a nectarine."
His free hand cupped my jaw—gentle, mindful of the rope still securing my head—as he brought his wet fingers to my lips.
I didn't break his gaze as I opened for him. Accepting them.
His pupils blew wide. His breath came in short, ragged bursts as I sucked, twirling my tongue around his fingertips, hollowing my cheeks.
He withdrew them with a growl.
Then he was gone—straightening, disappearing behind me. I heard the snap of a belt. The rustle of fabric hitting the floor.
His hands gripped my hips and pulled me back toward him, the ropes swaying with the motion.
His knees hit the sheepskin rug with a dull thud.
Then his lips brushed against my aching pussy.
"I've been thinking about this." The words vibrated against my inner thigh. "About having you like this. Spread open above me. Unable to move. Unable to do anything but take what I give you."
A whimper escaped me.
"So wet," he breathed. "Dripping for me."
His tongue found me without warning.
The cry that tore from my throat was raw—desperate—inhuman. My body jerked against the ropes, but there was nowhere to go. No way to chase the sensation or escape it.
He licked a slow, deliberate stripe through my folds, circling my clit before pulling back.
"You taste even better like this," he groaned against me.
His mouth sealed over me again, his tongue plunging inside. His hands slid up my suspended body, palms skating over my stomach until his fingers found my swollen nipples.
His tongue worked me relentlessly as his fingers gripped and pulled.
I screamed when the pull tipped into pain.
"What are your safe words again?" he groaned against me.
"Mercy, Master," I cried. "And salvation, Master."
He rewarded me with another long, slow lick. Then another. Building a rhythm that had me writhing in the ropes.
His fingers pinched as he twisted and pulled.
"Fuck!" the word tore free from deep inside of me along with a sob.
He growled, vibrating against my clit as he closed his lips around me and sucked.
Hard.
My vision went white.
"Can I come?" I pleaded.
He didn't respond.
"Master!" I screamed, feeling the buzz beneath my skin turning into a roar. "Please can I come?"
"Not yet," he growled against me. "You don't come until I say."
I was going to die. I was certain of it. The pressure building inside me was too much—a tidal wave with nowhere to go, cresting higher with every stroke of his tongue.
His mouth shifted to my clit, sucking in tight pulses. He freed one hand, fingers sliding inside me, curling just right against that spot.
I screamed with need.
"That's it," he murmured. "Let me hear you. Let me feel how badly you need this."
His fingers pumped in a relentless rhythm, his tongue working my clit in tight, devastating circles. The ropes creaked as I strained against them, my body convulsing.
"Please, Master," I begged, tears streaming down my cheeks. "Please, I can't—I need to—please—"